The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School
by Eleos Argentum
Summary: "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" AU – Eleven years ago Voldemort disappeared without a trace. Harry Potter is a normal wizard child who lives with his loving parents. This year he starts in Hogwarts; among his classmates stands a mysterious boy by the name Kidd d'Eath.
1. The Theft and The Heir

**Summary:** "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" AU – Ten years ago Voldemort disappeared without a trace. Harry Potter is a normal wizard child who lives with his loving parents. This year he starts in Hogwarts; among his classmates stands a mysterious boy by the name Kidd d'Eath.

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter and everything related is the mind child of J. K. Rowling while Soul Eater characters and world were created by Atsuchi Okubo.

While I was writing my fic "Death the Kid and the Broken Soul" it was stated that Lord Death sent people from DWMA to collect the souls of some Death Eaters but not Voldemort's, so it was only natural that the feared _"What If…?"_ question would pop in my twisted little mind.

What if Lord Death did send someone for Voldemort's soul? How things would have changed in the HP universe? Turns out the answer is a rather long one…

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter One.

_The Theft and the Heir._

His attacks were continuous, but restrain; he had learnt that giving the witch time enough to concentrate would allow her to disappear; in the other hand, pushing her far enough would make her disappear anyway, leaving back a limb or some other body part.

Though it would be amusing, it wouldn't ensure her death.

His yellow eyes locked in his prey, the Meister raised his Weapon and charged forward.

Breathing hard, the witch raised her wand and sent ray after ray of green light.

The thirteen years old dodged every shot, got in range and punched with his open hand on the woman's stomach.

The witch was propelled backwards, landing on her back, nursing her aching middle section; she bent as her mouth opened and blood poured out of it.

Not wasting a second, the Meister swung his scythe and cut.

The witch's body reaped apart in darkness, leaving behind nothing but her corrupted soul…

"They may called themselves 'witches' if they want, but their souls turned in Kishin-eggs just as regular humans souls do," pointed one star, thirteen years old DWMA student, Spirit Albarn after swallowing the red glowing orb.

"There isn't any major difference before either," shrugged his schoolmate and partner Franken Stein scratching the side of his head and popping a lollipop in his mouth.

"Well," Spirit stretched, "time to report to the boss."

"You do it."

The red headed rolled his eyes. "Come on, Stein. You can't be afraid of him forever..."

"Yes, I can."

The Scythe shrugged and walked to a nearby store; once there, he breathed on the showcase surface and drew the numbers:

"42-42-564, whenever you want to knock on Death's door…" mumbled Spirit.

The glass turned foggy and gave way to the Skull-cartoonish mask of the Grim Reaper.

"Ah! Spirit and Franken! How did it go~?"

"Well enough, sir," informed Spirit. "We got the Kishin-egg."

"Any trouble?"

"The hard part is to catch them," sighed Stein, running a hand through his already messy hair. "That ability of theirs to appear and disappear as they please it's frankly troublesome."

Lord Death nodded. "I'll dispatch the hellhounds. Anything else?"

"The real problem is their leader, sir. If not for him, most of this people wouldn't be killing nor turning into Kishin-eggs."

Death sighed. "Yes, I know. We have to cut the snake's head, so to speak." He remained in silence for a moment. "Though there is something odd about that particular soul…" Lord Death frowned before sighing. "This requires further investigation…"

Looking back at his young students, he blinked and frowned.

"You looked tired, Spirit," observed Lord Death.

"It's nothing, sir. I've been having troubles sleeping, that's all."

"Don't say... Anything unpleasant?" asked the Reaper, eyeing Stein, who was whistling innocently, hands in his pocket.

"Just some weird nightmares where a psycho strips me to a table and experiments on me."

"Oh, don't say..."

Stein shivered; Lord Death knew or at the very least suspected. He'll have to stop experimenting with his partner for the time being...

-o-o-o-

It was a cold, wet night.

In a room above the bar at the Hog's Head Inn, Professor Dumbledore -Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizarding School Headmaster- was at the end of an interview for the post of Divination Teacher; it had proven to be a big waste of time.

Sighing deeply, the old wizard stood up, being imitated by the young witch in front of him.

"I am sorry, Miss Trelawney," he said, pulling his cloak over his shoulders, "but I'm afraid you would not be suitable for the position."

The man was about to turn around and head for the door when the Seer suddenly became stiff; her mouth opened and a harsh, rough voice -completely different from her own- spoke:

"_The Theft shall flee once again; even so, Death will prevail in the end."_

The room fell in absolute silence as Dumbledore's blue eyes fixed on the entranced woman; her lips kept moving and the words kept flowing:

"_Mighty and powerful, fear by everyone though reign by his own fear, the Evil Lord stands proud… But it is by the Heir's hand that he shall find his fall and demise on All Hallows' Eve night… And the Dark Lord's will shall be granted… And the Evil Lord will meet his biggest desire at the time he faces his biggest dread… And he will chase the Heir not knowing what he seeks… A Child born from his Worst Nightmare… A Fragment born by the same fashion he has entrusted his existence, with a whole different meaning … Belonging to Death, the only soul Death will never claim… The Heir shall ascend to the Dark Lord's place…And the World will be shaped in a new Order."_

Trelawney's head fell forward; her breath was elaborated. She blinked a couple of times before regaining her composure.

"I'm so sorry… What I was saying?" She giggled softly. "I've feeling off all day; I guess I lost consciousness for a moment…"

As Dumbledore regarded her with an intense stare, a commotion was taking place outside the door; in the threshold stood the barman, holding by the collar of his robe a thin young man with black greasy hair.

-o-o-o-

Lord Voldemort dismissed his trusty Death Eater and leaned back on his chair, considering the information he had just been given.

A prophecy foretelling his downfall…

The wizard frowned. He must find this _Heir…_ before he has any chance of finding him.

Before the night of All Hallows' Eve.

-o-o-o-

_Kill the Heir before he kills you._

_Kill the Heir before he kills you._

Voldemort was obsessed; the Prophecy kept haunting him anytime, every time; Severus' words echoed in his ears, waking him at midnight, distracting him from his meeting with his Death Eaters, carrying his mind away, scattering his heart with dread…

The Prophecy was incomplete. He only knew that some Heir would bring his fall and demise on Halloween night… and even with the precautions he had already taken for that dreadful day; it didn't mean the danger would pass with it…

It would only mean that that wasn't the year.

To be sure he had killed the one destined to defeat him…

He needed to know the whole prophecy, damn it!

To get the whole damn thing he would have to go to the Mystery Department at the Ministry.

The Seer –more likely than not- would be completely useless, though Voldemort wasn't against… _interrogating_ her. Seers usually had not recollection of their own prophecies but he always could torture her until she… _decide_ to cooperate and foretell a way to stop that bloody Heir or secure the Dark Lord survival.

Not like that was any likely but it could greatly help to release some frustration.

But she was at Hogwarts, under Dumbledore's watchful eye.

Voldemort closed his red serpentine eyes and massaged his temples.

He couldn't kill every wizard and witch, hoping that one of them will be the Heir. It would take too long and he would never be sure of getting the correct one.

He needed to be sure.

Who could be that Heir? Someone who has something to inherit, but what?

He didn't even consider Muggles and Mud-Bloods; they were heirs of nothing but filthiness.

No, his Enemy was of magical lineage -Half-Blood or Pure-Blood- and it will be their lineage what shall reveal them.

Fame, prestige, richness, power…

Taking himself as example: Slytherin's Heir, the Last of the Gaunt Family.

Richness meant nothing; fame could easily became infamy; and Prestige was plainly laughable.

The only thing that matter, that always had and always will, was Power.

And that's how he'll find his enemy.

Of course Lord Voldemort could only be challenged by the most powerful and skillful of them all!

He'll center his search on the descendants of the most powerful and imminent wizards of all times.

But, just as himself at the beginning, the Heir could be ignorant of their lineage.

To be sure, he'll get rid of any outstanding wizard or witch as well of any "Heir" in the wizarding world for good.

Pure-Bloods had proven to be the perfect pawns once again.

Once their Master had showed the slightest interest in tracing the most important and ancient wizarding families, every single Death Eater had ran forward to present their entire genealogy, everyone claiming to have the more important and powerful ancestors.

Fools.

Lambs running to the Slaughter.

He hadn't tell them the reason behind his renewed interest in genealogy, and he had made sure to keep Snape (the only one amongst his forces who knew about the prophecy) ignorant of his latest main activity.

Truthful, the descendant of the Prince family was high in his list of possible "Heirs"; his approaching deceased was already planned, way before All Hallows' Eve Night.

But, even if he had ordered the few chosen (those who possessed the more specific and hopefully veritable genealogy trees) to remain in silence, he should have count with their veiled gloating, incisive comments and the impossible prideful smiles which they regarded the stupidest of things… and the ability of one Severus Snape to add two plus two and see what was really happening, confirming his theory even more with each single passing day and the various "accidental" deaths that came with them.

Therefore, Lord Voldemort hadn't caught the glimpse of understanding –and the fear it brought with it- in the black ink eyes of his most trusty lackey.

Black, Malfoy, Weasley, Lestrange, Avery, Crouch, Longbottom, Potter, Bones, Macmillan, Goyle, Diggory… And the list kept going.

But there was one… the last of a rather important family and -even if he weren't the prophesized enemy- a danger by his own.

Albus Dumbledore.

Another problem was the DMWA.

Death's goons had been mining his forces, though nothing he should worry about.

After all, they all were expendable and easy replaceable. And in some cases, he already had decided their deaths anyways.

As long as Death didn't bother to take the matter in his own hands, before Lord Voldemort was ready for him...


	2. A Rose by Any Other Name

**The Grim Reaper and the Sorcery School.**

Chapter Two.

_A Rose by Any Other Name._

_The Theft shall flee once again; even so, Death will prevail in the end._

_Mighty and powerful, fear by everyone though reign by his own fear, the Evil Lord stands proud._

_But it is by the Heir's hand that he shall find his fall and demise on All Hallows' Eve night…_

_And the Dark Lord's will shall be granted…_

_And the Evil Lord will meet his biggest desire at the time he faces his biggest dread…_

_And he will chase the Heir not knowing what he seeks…_

_A Child born from his Worst Nightmare…_

_A Fragment born by the same fashion he has entrusted his existence, with a whole different meaning …_

_Belonging to Death, the only soul Death will never claim…_

_The Heir shall ascend to the Dark Lord's place…_

_And the World will be shaped in a new Order._

Dumbledore sighed, looking at Trelawney's ghost like reminiscence turning around over herself in the Pensive like he had been doing for the last eleven years, since the prophecy had been spoken.

He hadn't been able to solve the puzzle; Voldemort had disappeared without a trace a long time ago, and he was even farther away from getting any answer.

No one had claimed to be the one responsible for defeating the Dark Lord (which would had been a deed a little too risky considering what some of his followers had been willing to do to find him, not to say avenge him if that was the case, thought shouldn't be a problem to anyone able to defeat Tom); but Dumbledore had made sure: Voldemort was last seen the morning of October 31st, 1980, and no one –not even his most trustworthy Death Eaters- had seen him after.

_So far._

It was only reasonable to assume the Heir and he had finally met.

_And how it had turned out._

The old Wizard stared at his memory without seeing it; Voldemort's search for his destined nemesis had caused a lot of pain. The man –he was a man not matter if he had ever admitted it or not, not even if most prefer to distance the human race of him by labeling him as a monster- had skillfully managed to make his followers and detractors do his evil deed, leading them to kill each other, taking special care to ensure the elimination of the descendants of the most ancient and notorious families and characters in Magical History.

And it only had stopped with Voldemort's disappearance.

Once again, his thoughts were drawn to the mysterious Heir…

He had his theories, of course, some of them a little bit too close of getting him a white, puffy chamber in St. Mungo; quite an accomplishment since there was no floor destined for the mentally ill –or anyone for that matter- who wasn't been victim of some kind of magical accident.

But, as certain muggle detective had once said, "When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth".

…Which turns to be specially complicated when applied in the Magical World, and when you happened to be one of the most intelligent wizards alive…

The possibilities just grew exponentially.

Too often had he wondered if the cure would turn out to be worse than the disease…

_The Heir shall ascend to the Dark Lord's place…_

_And the World will be shaped in a new Order._

Voldemort he knew... how he thought, his methods, what to expect… He knew him and he could fight him, but if the Heir turned to be a new foe instead of an ally…

He could only hope that wasn't the case; he could only hope the new Order the Heir would bring would be a bright one…

He could only hope for the best and be ready for the worst…

And the worst scenario was confronting two Dark Lords instead of one…

With a wave of his wand, the image of Trelawney sunk in the Pensive; he recovered his memories and stood up.

He must meet an old friend…

-o-o-o-

In Death City, in beautiful, sunny Nevada, inside the Death Room, Lord Death watched the world through his mirror with a thoughtful frown on his white mask.

"Someone is after the Philosopher's Stone," he commented.

"The Philosopher's Stone? Sounds boring…" huffed 25 years old Death Scythe, Spirit Albarn.

"It's the treasure of Alchemy; a ruby-like stone able to transfigure any substance into gold and also used to elaborate an elixir that extends life," said Kid. "I studied Alchemy," he stated to answer the questioning look in his father's Weapon's eyes.

Spirit sighed. "I'm guessing a lot of people want gold and a long life… Any idea who's behind this?"

"The evidence so far points to Tom Riddle a.k.a. Lord Voldemort," informed his boss. "Our sources last pointed him in Albania; however, we have reasons to believe he is the Master Mind behind the whole deal."

Kid frowned gloomily at the name.

"Didn't you kill him already?" Spirit asked him.

"I did a poor job," he said. "I destroyed his body but his soul managed to escape."

Lord Death nodded. "And that's exactly why he'd need the stone: to recover his body, and therefore, his powers…"

But Kid was too busy to listen. "I'm useless… a piece of trash… I can't find a Weapon nor collect a soul… I should just die…" whined the young Reaper from his rant on the ground.

"Now," Lord Death clapped, "I got word that the stone will be kept at a sorcery school in Scotland and I was thinking of sending an undercover agent to ensure the security… You Kiddo~!"

"I'll just mess it up… _again_… Send someone else…" answered the depressed (and useless) Kid from the floor.

"But it has to be you! You are the best for the job!" cried his father.

"All teaching posts are taken, so we have to send a student, unless we forced some teacher to take a sabbatical year and that's too complicated too properly pull off without raising suspicions… There are seven years of elementary magical education, which begins when the children are eleven years old, so we need a child between eleven and eighteen with an excellent Soul Control for the magic thing.

"Sending some of our older and more experienced students won't do, since they would be expected to perform certain level of magic –which they don't know how, so they would be discovered instantly.

"Sending one of the younger and newer students of DWMA is completely out of the question; they wouldn't stand a chance, they would get caught ASAP.

"But you, Kid, you are young and cute! You are very experienced and your Soul Control is perfect! You can easily pass as a First Year student!"

Spirit nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah… I guess you could pass as anywhere between eleven and fifteen…"

"I can't do magic…" grumbled Kid from the ground.

"Of course you can! Grim Reaper powers are considered magic! And you'll master the wizarding kind in no time since it basically consists in canalizing your energy through a stick; kinda like Meisters and Weapons but without the feedback~

"Actually any creature can do wizarding magic as long as they possess the ability to canalize energy. Of course it requires a lot of study and practice, memorizing the spells and the stick moves and yaddah-yaddah. Piece of cake~

"You shouldn't have any problem at all, son, though the magic in the air would numb your Soul Perception, acting kinda like a Soul Protect, so you'll need to keep a watchful eye at all times.

"I'm counting on you, son. You'll do great~!"

Kid nodded, standing up and scrupulously brushing any trace of sand from his clothes. "If you are so sure I'm fit for the job, I'll do it, Father…"

"I do~" Lord Death bobbed enthusiastically. He waved a piece of paper. "And look! I happen to have an application form with me!

"Let's see~"

Lord Death cleared his throat and began reading:

"_HOGWARTS SCHOOL__of __WITCHCRAFT __and __WIZARDRY_

"_REGISTRATION FORM_

"_Name._

Lord Death looked at his son thoughtfully. "I don't think we can use your name; it will be better if no one there suspects about your mission, so we'll need an alias…

"I KNOW!" The Reaper bent over the paper and scribbled furiously. "Done~! Whatcha think~?" He shoved the paper under Kid's nose enthusiastically.

The youth read aloud. "Kidd d'Eath?"

"Clever, huh? Now, date of birth… October 31, 14-"

"If I'm posing as an eleven year old; it should be 1980," pointed Kid.

"Oh, right… 1980… That was close…" Lord Death whistled with relief. "Place of birth… Can't put Death City… Las Vegas then!

"Current address… We have a safe house near Las Vegas, let's use that… The next one is… Father's name! Oh, I get an alias too! What would be good? Whatcha think, Kiddo?"

"Uhm…" Kid tilted his head, frowning. "I don't know, maybe one of those people used to call you…?"

Lord Death clapped excitedly. "Which one? There are so many… Shinigami, Anubis, Hades, Thanatos (why Greeks thought I was two different people is beyond me…), Mors… What about Morti?"

"No."

"Morrigan, Barón Samedi, Azrael, Samael…"

"That could work…" pointed Spirit.

"Samael?" Lord Death pondered for a moment. "Nope. I know! What about Lloyd?"

"Lloyd?" Spirit raised an eyebrow. "Lloyd d'Eath and Kidd? Seriously? That's the best you can come with?"

"Why not~?" Lord Death wrote it down. "It has a familiar appealing… Age? I don't remember…"

"Father…"

"Oh, right! I'm posing as the father of a regular eleven year old… What age would be good? ... Hey, Spirit? How old were you when your child was born?"

"Eighteen." A blissful expression covered the red head's features. "I was eighteen when the Angel of purity and Light that Maka is blessed me with her sweet presence, vanishing the horrors and tribulations of my existe-"

"Eighteen plus eleven is twenty-nine!" Lord Death wrote it down, completely ignoring Spirit's outburst.

"Occupation…"

"We need something inconspicuous," stated Kid, "something that doesn't raise suspicion nor does need an elaborate background but also could explain any inconsistence.

"Maybe researcher…?"

"That's great! Researcher shall be~" Lord Death wrote it down and continued reading. "Mother's name… We don't need this… I'm not sharing credit of you with either a real or fictional person…" He crossed out all about the mother's information. "There! Done!"

Now the application form was smeared with black blobs of ink.

The Reaper inspected the rest of the paper and quickly filled the remainder spaces.

"I'll ask the executive secretary to get the proper documentation and send it all~" He whistled and a bat flew to him; Lord Death attached the paper to its leg and the bat flew away through one of the windows.

Spirit read some pamphlets, eyebrows raised. "You do realize this is a boarding school, right?"

Lord Death blinked. "Come again?"

"You've just signed Kid for a whole year in a boarding school in the United Kingdom… He'll be living in that school until next May…"

"…"

Lord Death stared at him.

"Uhm… Father?" Kid waved a hand in front of his mask.

"NOOO!" Lord Death yelled and ran to the window. "Come back here, you bad excuse of a rat! You won't take my baby away!"

He watched as the bat and a few others flew in the distance, carrying some envelopes.

"GET BACK HERE!" he yelled with all his lung capacity.

"They are gone, Father…"

Lord Death looked at Kid with watery hole-eyes.

"AND SO WILL YOU!" He cried broken-heartedly, squeezing his son's organs with a mighty hug. "What I'm gonna do without you?!"

"You'll be fine… It's for a short time… I'll talk to you every day…" assured Kid, rubbing his back softly.

"Who would I play videogames with?" asked his father.

"Spirit?"

"Whom would I complain about Spirit?"

"Kami?"

"Whom would I play practical jokes to make fun of Spirit?"

"Stein?"

"Hey! What?!"

"Not now, Spirit! Can't you see I'm suffering here?" snapped Lord Death before continuing sobbing and bawling.

Spirit's lip quivered and soon he found himself in a perfect symmetrical position -opposed to Lord Death's- also being consoled by Kid.

"HOW THE HECK I'M GONNA STAND HIM?! BWA…"

* * *

><p><strong>AN: **I'm so glad many of you liked the prophecy; it was partially inspired in a one-shot I can no longer find nor I remember the author… It was about Kid getting badly hurt in a fight, and if Death's Heir can die…

Originally this was going to be Chapter Three but I decided to skip Chapter Two since it would have been too tangled and some surprises would have been spoiled… Let's face it; you all know the original story, therefore, I must do an extra super special effort to mess with your head and blow up your minds with unexpected twists and turns.

Like a Gringotts' cart!

Therefore I decided to skip eleven years –how many of you noticed that Voldemort fell a year earlier in this timeline?- and go on with the story.

As you may imagine, the contents of chapter two will be release gradually as the story advances: just like the original one which we love so much~


End file.
